


our demons are marvels

by Y_ellow



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: (yes it's Deadpool), Canon-Typical Violence, College Student Peter Parker, Established Relationship, Face-Sitting, Identity Reveal, Kidnapping, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mistaken Identity, Peter is 24 so no underage, Praise Kink, Rimming, Size Kink, Temporary Character Death, Wade just wants to do good, soft dom Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 12:21:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21338164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Y_ellow/pseuds/Y_ellow
Summary: The last thing Peter sees as he’s being dragged away is the steadily growing pool of blood on the living room floor, Wade’s bare foot visible past the edge of the door.Later, he’ll feel a bit bad that his last conscious though was about the clean-up, and not the fact that his boyfriend had maybe-probably just been murdered.ORPeter gets kidnaped, Deadpool comes to his rescue. What a way to tell your boyfriend of six months that you dress up in spandex and fight crime.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Spiderman/Deadpool
Comments: 35
Kudos: 677
Collections: Isn't it Bromantic?, Marvel(ous)Universe





	our demons are marvels

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve decided to participate in NaNoWriMo this year, which is wild because I’ve written more in the last week than probably any other time of my life. I’m one week in and already flagging, so wrote most of this at 1am instead of sleeping in the hopes of getting some validation to boost me though the next little bit. 
> 
> Sorry not sorry about the probably terrible attempt at smut at the end. Writing that on the train this morning was as amusing as it was awkward.

Peter’s first time meeting Wade is objectively a disaster.

His classes have just ended for the day, and all he wants is to curl up in bed with some snacks and load up a movie on his laptop. His shoe-box apartment is thankfully a short walk away from campus, so he doesn’t need to bother with public transport. He’s moving on autopilot, more focused on what he should watch and if he has enough money to order takeout than the world around him.

For whatever reason, his spidey sense doesn’t go off, and so Peter walks face first into a muscular chest. It takes Peter’s sleep addled brain an embarrassingly long time to register the fact that he’s just walked right into someone, and that in doing so, he’s caused the man to spill his drink all over the both of them. Peter gets a whiff of protein powder and chocolate.

“Oh shit I’m so sorry,” Peter says, stepping out of the other man’s space, shaking his arm out to get as much of the liquid off as possible before it seeps into the material of his jacket. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” He adds, hand combing through his already messy hair in agitation.

Peter gets his first look at the man beyond his face full of admittedly very nicely defined pecs, and inhales sharply in surprise. There’s a gym bag slung over one broad shoulder, and a large hood obscuring most of the other man’s features, but what little Peter can see of his face is absolutely covered in scars. And he doesn’t have any eyebrows.  
  
“Don’t worry about it.” The man says, gruffly, clearly noticing Peter’s reaction, minute as it was, and already turning to walk away.  
  
Now Peter gets to feel awkward for walking face-first into someone _and_ for making them feel bad about themselves. Way to go, Parker.  
  
“Let me buy you a coffee or something? As an apology?” Peter askes hurriedly, since the earth isn’t complying with his silent request to swallow him up and spare him from his awkwardness.

“Don’t worry you’re pretty little head, bambi. I don’t drink coffee, and I was almost done anyways.” The man says, a small smile tugging at his lips, and _wow_. Peter’s known he was bi since about age thirteen, watching a movie and thinking that both the male and female leads where equally attractive, but this guy has the most kissable set of lips he’s seen in a while. One of the scars makes his smile a bit lopsided, and that shouldn’t look as cute as it does on someone that seems to be about two hundred pounds of muscle and six feet tall.

“Seriously,” Peter tries again. “Let me do something to make it up to you.”

“If you keep insisting I’m going to start thinking that you’re after a date, bambi.” The man says, small smile stretching into a cocksure grin.

“My name’s Peter. And I’d love to get to know you better, if you’re interested.”

Peter’s shoulders slump, disappointed, as the silence stretches between them for long enough that Peter expects to be turned down.

“I know a great hole-in-the-wall Mexican place nearby if you’re hungry, Peter. My name’s Wade.”

~~~

The next six months pass in a whirlwind. Peter and Wade _clicked_ in a way that he didn’t think was possible, not after Gwen. It doesn’t hurt that the sex is spectacular. Honestly, Peter has never laughed so much in is life, both in and out of the bedroom.

The only downside to their relationship is that Peter hasn’t figured out how to tell Wade that he’s Spiderman, or if he even wants to. Wade hasn’t been too upfront about his past, but Peter knows that he was in the special forces, knows that he can more than handle himself in a fight. That doesn’t change the fact that when people get too close to Spiderman, they then to get hurt.

In the end, the choice is taken out of his hands altogether.

They’re in Wade’s apartment, curled up together on the couch watching bad zombie movies and poking fun at all the plot holes, joking about what they would do to survive the zombie apocalypse, when the door flies open with a bang.

Even with his spidey sense tingling, Wade reacts first, dragging them both to the floor in the blink of an eye. Peter’s eyes widen in alarm as his spidey sense screams and thick white smoke begins to fill the room, instantly making him feel lightheaded and bringing tears stinging to his eyes. He moves one hand over his mouth and nose, holds his breath to prevent himself from breathing in any more of the gas. He peers over the edge of the couch in time to see three heavily armed men in black tactical suits and wearing breathing masks move towards them.

Peter curses himself for a fool. After the last time Wade almost saw his spidey suite, Peter had taken to leaving it in his own apartment whenever the where together, including his web-shooters. If he were alone he might still be able to fight these guys, or at least escape through the window, but that wouldn’t be easy to explain to Wade, and he’s not about to leave him behind either.

Beside him, Wade tenses, which is all the warning he gives before vaulting over the couch in one fluid motion. He ducks right into their space, and lands a series of hard blows against the first assailant, kicking another sharply in the knee, sending both figures crashing to the floor with twin pained grunts.

Peter doesn’t have the time to as much as yell before the third invader draws a gun, shooting Wade right in the head. Wade crumples to the ground, like a marionette whose strings have just been cut.

Whatever is in the air must be designed with people with enhancements in mind, because even Peter’s super metabolism isn’t enough to fight off the fatigue invading his limbs. There’s blackness over taking the edge of his vision, filling his head with fog.

The last thing Peter sees as he’s being dragged away is the steadily growing pool of blood on the living room floor, Wade’s bare foot visible past the edge of the door.

Later, he’ll feel a bit bad that his last conscious though was about the clean-up, and not the fact that his boyfriend had maybe-probably just been murdered.

~~~

Peter comes to with a splitting headache, his arms bound tightly behind his back.

He’s upright, ankles bound to the metal legs of the chair his captors have so thoughtfully secured him to. He flexes his muscles slightly, and relaxes when he confirms that he’s being held with regular rope. He can bust his way out of these, if it comes to it. Whoever took him must not be very familiar with his abilities, even if they’ve somehow figured out his secret identity. Peter swallows thickly as he remembers what happened to Wade, nausea threatening to make him loose his lunch.

“So good of you to join us, Mr. Parker.”

Peter’s head snaps up at the sound of his name. The speaker is a bland looking man in a dark suit, sitting in a much more comfortable looking chair placed a few feet in front of Peter.

“I wish I could say it was a pleasure. I don’t think I caught your name.” Peter says, drily, utterly unimpressed.

The man lips move in the facsimile of a smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. It looks down right creepy and sends a shiver of unease down Peter’s spine.

“I’m starting to understand what a man like Mr. Wilson must see in you, Mr. Parker. You’re a mouthy little shit.” Peter tilts his head to the side slightly, unfazed. The drone looks kind of like a creepier version of a clean shaved Hugo Weaving. Agent Smith it is, since he still hasn’t shared his name with Peter.

“What does this have to do with Wade?” Peter asks, brow furrowed, voice faltering briefly over Wade’s name. He’s not about to give kidnapping assholes the privilege of seeing him cry, so the meltdown he can feel building will have to wait until later, when he can properly process the whole thing.

“Everything, M. Parker.” The newly dubbed Agent Smith said, beating around the bush in a way that is really starting to get on Peter’s nerves. “It appears he’s neglected to tell you what he does for a living,” he adds, sounding smugger by the minute. “Mr. Wilson has worked for my employer in the past, under the moniker ‘Deadpool’. Unfortunately, he’s rather let us down, recently. I rather suspect it has something to do with your relationship.”

Whatever Peter was expected to hear, that sure wasn’t it. He blinks a few times in surprise, trying to accept a world in which Wade Wilson, who brings him coffee in between classes and loves long cuddle session, can be one and the same with Deadpool, deadly and world renowned mercenary for hire.

On the bright side, that probably means that they _don’t_ actually know Peter’s secret identity as Spiderman, which will make breaking out of here that much easier.

“That doesn’t tell me what you want with _me_.” Peter eventually says, when Agent Smith remains silent, clearly waiting for Peter to says something, or maybe to start screaming and begging for his life.

“No harm will come to you, Mr. Parker, if you only cooperate. We don’t hold your association with Mr. Wilson against you. In fact, we’re rather counting on it. He’s bound to come running.”

“Maybe your lackeys didn’t report back to you, but Wade is _dead_. They shot him in the head.” Peter snaps, confused hurt turning to anger. How dare they try to use him against Wade and mess up so spectacularly in the process. Revenge isn’t Spiderman’s usual MO, but Peter’s starting to think he might need to make an exception just for these guys.

“Mr. Wilson has the annoying ability to get back up from anything we do to him, including what the rest of us would consider final. I have faith that he’ll be with us shortly.” Peter freezes, letting that sink in. It’s true that Deadpool has a frighteningly powerful regenerative ability; Peter has personally seen the masked anti-hero grow back a hand.

“In the mean-time, please make yourself comfortable.” Agent Smith says with a mocking tint to his voice, as he stands and walks towards the door. “We’ll need to keep you on hand until Mr. Wilson is willing to reconsider his stance about completing the task my employer assigned him, naturally,” he adds, clearly done with the conversation if the door shutting behind him is anything to go off of.

No way is Peter staying here, especially not if what Agent Smith said is true and Wade is still _alive_. And also Deadpool. But that seems less concerning, somehow, in the wake of recent events.

Peter has met Deadpool as Spiderman a few times, even fought against and with him. The mercenary is violent, brash, and rude, maiming or outright killing whoever gets in his way. Peter has mostly given him a wide berth, preferring to do his part as a Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman and only teaming up with the katana wielding merc when it becomes absolutely necessary or when the merc hasn’t given him a choice. Those few team ups have always had Peter in stitches at the man’s smart mouth and acerbic wit, wielding his non-stop chatter as effectively as his katanas.

In hind sight, Wade may not have being very subtle about his identity, Peter just wasn’t paying enough attention. Wade’s incessant stream of babble while they do _anything_ is as annoying as it is endearing, and of his most renowned traits as Deadpool.

Maybe telling Wade his own secret won’t be all that difficult, after all. If nothing else, the mercenary has never hidden his outright admiration of Spiderman, so Wade probably won’t be _that_ upset. Mind made up, Peter pulls his wrists apart sharply tearing thought the rope binding his wrists together with ease, before freeing his legs in a similar fashion.

Peter may not have his suit or web-shooters, but he’s not about to play the part of a helpless damsel in distress. The suit isn’t what makes him Spiderman, after all.

The door to his cell is unlocked, without even a guard to keep Peter in check. Peter doesn’t see any cameras, either. Peter would be offended if it didn’t make his life that much easier.

He can just barely make out the sounds of a fight coming from further down the hall. Peter smiles, and breaks out into a light jog. Knowing what he does now, Peter is willing to bet that Wade is the source of the commotion. It doesn’t take him long to reach the end of the hall. There’s an open door leading up to a set of stairs to his right. Peter can hear Wade’s voice now, no doubt antagonising whoever he’s fighting, though he can’t make out the exact words yet. Peter smiles again and takes the stairs two at a time.

Another door, this one closed, leads him into a richly decorated office. There are several men in tactical suits littering the floor, some still groaning or twitching, but most still. Peter hopes that they’re only knocked out, but doesn’t take the time to check.

Wade – Deadpool – is a sight to behold. He’s wearing the full Deadpool suit, covered from head to toe in the red and black material and what looks like an alarming amount of blood. Most of it is probably his, if the litany of bullet holes riddling his suit are anything to go by. He’s fighting barehanded, punching and kicking his assailants, guns no doubt left behind in his rush to save Peter. His katanas are impaled into the far wall, pinning Agent Smith by the material of his suit jacket. Peter takes vindictive glee in the face of the man’s obvious fear, finally looking less than perfectly bland and composed.

Before long, the remaining goons are all dealt with, and the only remaining conscious assailant is Agent Smith himself.

“I’m going to ask once and only once. Where did you put my Petey-pie.” Deadpool’s voice is low, full of barely contained rage and menace as he all but stalks towards the immobilized man.

“I’m right here, Wade.” Peter speaks up, not wanting to watch his boyfriend torture the information out of Agent Smith. Clearly they’re going to need to have a lengthy discussion about appropriate shows of force, and why it’s bad to kill people, but that can wait.

“Pete!” Wade cries, swivelling sharply at the sound of Peters voice. Peter has never heard him sound so relieved before.

He isn’t sure which of them takes the first step, but they meet in the middle, Wade sweeping Peter up into a bone crushing hug. Peter clings to him just as tightly, legs wrapped around his waist, fingers digging into the material of his mask to pull it up and off. Their first kiss is _filthy_, a brutal clash of mouths and teeth, before softening into a series of more leisurely kisses, a slow exploration of mouths.

When they finally separate, panting for breath, Peter rests his forehead against Wade’s, fingers caressing his scarred cheeks.

“Shit I’m so sorry baby boy, I never meant for you to get involved like this.” Peter’s eyes flutter open at the sound of Wade’s voice, usually so self-assured and full of humour, now low and filled with regret.

Peter hates it, hates Agent Smith and his nebulous employer for making Wade sound like that.

Hate’s himself a little too, for his part in it, for not telling Wade that he can take care of himself, that he isn’t just a civilian in need of protection.

“It’s okay,” Peter whispers against Wade’s lips, “I can take care of myself. I’m just glad you aren’t _dead_, Wade.” Wade’s arms tighten against Peter’s waist in response, pressing their bodies flush.

“Let’s just go home, okay?” Peter says, after a beat. He want to tell Wade about being Spiderman on the spot, but he can’t trust that none of those present will overhear. And he’s really tired of seeing Agent Smith’s smarmy face.

~~~

They wind up at Peter’s apartment. Wade’s no doubt still looks like a blood drenched crime scene, complete with a busted in door. Not to mention any damage Wade might have done himself upon reviving only find Peter gone.

They haven’t let go of each other since their reunion, Wade carrying Peter whenever he can get away with it. If these past few months together have thought Peter anything about himself it’s that he _really_ enjoys how big Wade is compared to him, how safe it feels to be held like something precious. Like this, Peter feels as though he can let go of Spiderman, just for a while, can let go of the _responsibility _that comes with wearing the mask.

Though Peter is just as reluctant as Wade to part, keeping their fingers tangled together, but exposing himself as Spiderman isn’t something he can do from Wade’s arms,  
Wordlessly, he tugs Wade towards his bedroom, where he’s tucked his suit under the bed. As sure as he is that telling Wade is the right decision, he’s apprehensive, butterflies crowding in his stomach.

“Do it like a band aid, Parker,” he mumbles under his breath, reaching for the bag he tossed the suit in with one hand, the other clutching Wade’s wrist. Wade is tense at his back, no doubt picking up on Peter’s unease, and Peter doesn’t want him getting the wrong idea and bolting.

Peter takes a deep breath, and turns to face Wade, red and blue suit on display for the first time with his face uncovered since he donned it at age fifteen.

“I’m Spiderman.” Peter says, simply, when Wade fails to react.

Wade is still wearing his Deadpool costume, minus the mask and boots, so Peter can see the understanding filter across his features, eyes widening in surprise, and mouth stretching wide in a happy grin.

“I’m banging_ Spiderman_!” Wade crows, elation taking the bite out of his shit eating grin. “I’m _dating_ Spiderman,” he adds, happiness and awe softening his features. Wade crowds closer to Peter, boxing him in between his body and the bed, resting his hands possessively on Peter’s hips.

“Ditto, but with Deadpool.” Peter says, letting the suit slip from his fingers and pool on the floor, all but forgotten. He doesn’t need a mirror to know that his own expression is unbearably sappy. “I love you, Wade Wilson.” Peter says, uncaring that neither of them have so much as hinted at it yet, wrapping his arms around Wade’s neck to pull him down for a kiss. After telling Wade the single greatest secrete of Peter’s life, one that he’s been keeping for almost a decade, it seems silly not to let him know exactly how important he is.

Wade pulls Peter in by the hips, bodies flush together, hands roaming down his body to grab his ass. “I know,” Wade says, lopsided smile achingly fond. Peter smacks him lightly on the arm in retaliation, even as he laughs.

Wade hides a grin against the hollow of Peter’s throat, kissing and nibbling at his pulse point, as if to taste his heartbeat. “I love you,” he finally says, as seriously as Peter has ever heard him be, “I really, really, do.”

“Take the suit off, Wade.” Peter says, suddenly desperate to feel Wade skin against his own, fingers roaming over the Wade’s broad shoulders, down his back, feeling the muscles their shift and contract at the soft touch.

Watching Wade trip over his own two feet in his rush to comply and remove the outfit shouldn’t be nearly as hot as is it. Peter strips out of his own clothes quickly, efficiently, not carrying to try and make a game of it. As soon as Peter has kicked his clothing and spider suit out of the way, he grasps Wade’s forearms firmly, stopping the merc’s struggles to get his pants further down than his knees. One firm tug is all it takes to get Wade flush against Peter’s side, making it easy to sweep the mercs legs out from under him with an arm and a surprised exhale as Peter catches him in a bridal carry. Even Wade’s impressive bulk is no match for Peter’s super strength, as he closes the short distance leading to the bed, where he sets Wade down gently.

Peter wastes no time in straddling Wade’s thighs, sitting just above where the suit is still caught and restricting his movements. Peter uses one hand to pin Wade’s arms above his head by the wrists, and the other to cover his mouth before Wade can throw Peter’s plans for a loop simply by talking.

“Be good for me Wade,” Peter says, voice pitched low with arousal. He waits for Wade to nod before letting freeing his wrists and uncovering his mouth. Wade keeps his hands right where Peter put them without needing to be told, earning him a pleased smile and a kiss.

“Oh fuck,” Wade wheezes, pupils blown huge and eyes clouded with lust, a slightly dazed expression on his face, so clearly enjoying Peter’s surprising show of strength.  
Wade lets his eyes flutter closed as they kiss, long and deep, keeping them closed as Peter trails his hands down Wade’s body reverently, caressing his pecs, his flanks, only to stop and rest lightly on his hips. Peter follows his hands with his mouth, leaving a burning trail of kisses along the lines of Wade’s abs, the little v crease where his hips join his pelvis, down to the base of his cock, already fully erect and leaking precum at the tip. Wade bucks slightly, hips lifting off the bed to chase the warmth of Peter’s mouth when he skips right over Wade’s cock to litter kisses along the inside of his muscular thigs.

“You’ve been holding out on me baby boy,” Wade gasps out between breathy moans, as Peter rakes his fingers down Wades sides, finger nails digging ever so lightly into his flesh, careful not to catch on any of Wade’s textured scars. Wade looks _delectable_ with his arms stretched out above his head like that. Wrists crossed other each other, chest heaving and back arched tantalizingly with the strain staying still.

“You look so good spread out on my bed like this, Wade.” Peter says, dragging his fingers along the plane of Wade’s muscular stomach to see him twitch, laying butterfly kisses along the inside of Wade’s thighs, never quite touching his cock. Wade’s eyes are half lidded, embarrassment at the praise staining his checks pink.

Peter takes his time taking Wade apart, kissing and caressing every part of his body in between compliments, encouraging him as Wade shudders and moans under the onslaught of affection, before finally taking Wade’s leaking cock into his mouth. Peter pins Wade’s hips down with one arm as the larger man keens, head thrown back and hips bucking wildly, trying to thrust up into the wet heat of Peters mouth. Peter keeps his eyes trained on Wade, greedily drinking in every shift of his expression. Wade is always vocal in bed, never failing to tell Peter just how talented he his with his mouth, all the filthy, filthy things Wade would do to Peter if he could just touch him, and all the things Peter should do to Wade.

“Oh fuck, Petey, please, please, let me touch you, sit on my face, something,_ please_.” Wade breaths out in a rush, toes curling in pleasure and muscles straining with the effort to be good, to stay still, to take whatever Peter gives him as his cock hits the back of Peter’s throat, delicate muscle fluttering against the intrusion.

Peter bobs has head once more, humming to show Wade that his request has been heard, and relishing in the litany of profanity wade spews as Peter’s throat flutter against his dick again. Peter releases Wade’s dick with a lewd pop, wiping away at the saliva coating his chin and connecting him to the tip of Wade’s still hard dick. He gives the head one last soft kiss before crawling up over Wade’s body until he can look him in the eye without either of them having to strain. His own dick is so hard it’s nearly painful.

“Is that what you want, Wade?” Peter asks, “Will you use your tongue to get me nice and loose and slick enough to take your cock, while I’m sitting on your face?” Peter asks, knowing the answer but wanting to hear Wade say it.

Wade closes his eyes again, face flushed and lips parted in a moan. “_Yes_,” he breaths out in a hiss, “let me make you feel good, Peter.” The rest of Wade’s pleads are lost to the space between them as Peter kisses him, hard, teeth clashing together almost painfully, tongues moving together in tandem.

“Let’s get you comfortable,” Peter says, moving Wade’s pliant body on the bed until he’s satisfied with the placement of pillows and blankets, helping to angle Wade’s head back slightly while supporting his neck. He moves Wade’s hand down to rest against his thighs.

“If you need this to stop, just take your hands off your thighs. Understood, Wade?” Peter asks, waiting for Wade to nod again before giving him one more lingering kiss. Without further delay, Peter positions himself right over Wade’s face, legs on either side of his head, hands splayed out on Wade’s abdomen for balance.

Wade is full of eager energy, diving right into things, making Peter moan at the first touch of his tongue, licking broad stokes over Peter’s taint and hole. Peter lets him work for it for a moment, Wade needing to bury his face between Peter’s cheeks to slick his pucker, like promised. Peter can feel every little puffs of air against his heated skin as Wade breaths shallowly between licks.

Peter braces himself more firmly, rocking back slightly to free his hands and spreads his checks helpfully, letting wade press even closer. “Yes, right there, your tongue feels so good Wade.” Peter moans as Wade starts fucking his tongue in and out of Peter’s hole, mimicking what he might be doing with his cock instead.

Peter moans again as Wade tilts his head slightly to lick at Peters taint, mouthing wetly against his balls, sucking and nipping lightly in a way that could almost hurt but instead just sends tingles of pleasure shooting up his spine. Peter let’s himself sink down slightly, pressing himself more firmly into the wet heat of Wade’s mouth. Wade sucks furiously against Peters balls in response, nose pressed into his taint. Peter isn’t giving him any other option but to take it, and it’s only making Wade more fervent as he wrings pleasure from Peter’s body. Peter rocks slightly against Wade’s face, neglected cock twitching against his stomach with the small movements.

Peter fists the base of his cock tightly, not wanting to cum until Wade is buried to the hilt inside of him. Peter rises slightly off of Wade’s face to let him suck in a desperate breath, yet chasing Peter up to lick and nip at his pucker all the while. “You’re doing amazing, Wade, you’re making me feel so good.” Peter says, with a moan, slipping a hand down past his balls to finger at his hole, stretching himself thoroughly while Wade continues to slick him up.

Rising to his knees, Peter moves to straddle Wade’s hips as the man pants, working his jaw, lips pink and slick with spit. “You’ve done such a good job Wade,” Peter croons. “You deserve a reward,” he adds, gripping Wade’s cock loosely in one hand as he lowers himself slowly, guiding it into his body inch by inch.

“You can touch me, Wade.” Peter says, around a gasp, as he impales himself fully on Wade’s cock, legs shaking and body humming with the desire to _just move already._

Wade surges up as soon as the words leave Peters lips, hands reaching to tangle into Peter’s hair, caress his face, laying hot open mouthed kisses across Peter’s collar bones, his pulse point. Peter moans as Wade beings thrusting up shallowly into him, “You fill me up so nicely Wade, it’s like your cock was made for this, made for _me_.”

“Shit Petey, I’m not going to last much longer.” Wade says, rocking up into the tight heat of Peter’s body. Peter rises up and fucks himself onto Wade’s dick in earnest, relishing in the burn of pleasure low in his belly as Wade's cock presses against his prostate with every thrust. Wade wraps one hand around Peters cock, pumping it in time with the movement of their bodies. Peter’s orgasm takes him by surprise, sends ribbons of cum painting Wade’s stomach, the reflexive clenching of his hole triggering Wade’s own orgasm. When Wade does cum it’s with a low grunt, hips stuttering into Peter involuntarily, making Peter gasp as the movement pulls against his oversensitive flesh. Wade pulls out carefully, guiding Peter to lay down beside him on the bed.

Feeling too lazy and fucked-out to get up, Peter uses a corner of the sheet to clean himself off, and to wipe his cum off of Wade’s chest. That done, he balls up the sheet and tosses it into a corner of his rooming, pulling the comforter up over the both of them and settling down beside Wade, ready for a long cuddle. Wade twists into Peter’s hold, little spoon to Peter’s big spoon.

“I have a very important question for you Petey pie.” Wade starts some time later, rousing Peter from his post-coital bliss, voice rough. Peter hums questioningly, too relaxed to bother with a verbal answer. Wade shifts within Peters embrace, turning until their faces are barely an inch apart, breath mingling.

“Could we have been having ceiling sex this whole time?” Wade asks, so seriously that Peter can’t help but laugh, nuzzling his nose against Wade's in an Eskimo kiss.

“If you’re ready for round two, why don’t we find out.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, please leave a comment on your way out!


End file.
